by Ifeanyi Dike Jr

Why some individuals think they need to be arrogant, ruthless b***hes to move ahead in the Fashion Industry is beyond me

The pre-buzz for a certain fashion and music show that held in Lagos a few months ago became unbearable and rather annoying. I absolutely had to attend!  Imagine my delight when I got an email from my friend, Sayo, asking if I wanted to work backstage. I responded with a desperate ‘YES’.

If I had any doubts about what a doctor-in-training-slash-writer was looking for backstage at a fashion show, they were quickly quelled when I remembered that a certain Ms. Hibiscus, veteran sunglasses wearer and serial celebrity dater was to be the sensational host of the show. Surely, a million people would kill to be in my (somewhat awkward position.

As a dresser, I had to assemble the rack, hang the clothes according to their designer and then help models in and out of the clothes. Between seeing more skin than I bargained for and sending models scampering down the runway, nothing could have prepared me for the backstage ruckus. At this point, I was having third thoughts but it would be worth it in the end, wouldn’t it? After all, I was going to meet Ms. Hibiscus.

Come to think of it, I’m not even a fan, but with the cloud of hype this lady and the event had stirred, I had to be sure she was in fact human. So you can understand why I had a complex partial seizure when I woke up to a tweet from Ms. Hibiscus, saying she was not going to attend the show. She had no idea of its existence, or that people even knew her name in Nigeria! Nada! No Ms. Hibiscus!

The second rehearsal was intense; there was the need for everybody to “pull his or her s**t together!” as the coordinator said. Janice, the ‘backstage madam’, was a feisty sort; used to having her way with minions. With no apologies, she laid down laws, she spoiled for a confrontation all morning and more annoying than others, she spoke in a thick British accent even though she had been in England for only five years.

First, she attacked Kemi for smiling, calling her a “spoilt brat” because a driver dropped her off at the venue. I watched from a safe distance, trying to see the relevance of Janice’s jabs to the job at hand. Backstage Madam was ready to demean people at no cost, so I knew I would not cross this one.

I was wrong.

First, she issued a warning. In a clipped tone, she said, “what are you even doing here; I don’t have a f**king clue. You doctor!”

I strove to remain calm, yet bile rose in my mouth. Hopefully, the day would end peacefully.

Wrong again.

On the second instance, Janice stirred up a conversation specially tailored to p**s me off.

“No red carpets. I don’t want to see any of you on the red carpet!”

She looked at me through the entire rant, angling for a response.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“I’m f**king serious Ifeanyi; I don’t wanna see you on there.”

“I haven’t said I would go on the red carpet, have I?” I smiled in an attempt to discharge the tension.

There were a few seconds of calm following the show down, and then I took a sudden interest in my phone.

“You know what, leave; you are even on your BlackBerry.”

“You said it was okay to take notes on my BlackBerry,” I responded.

Someone in the room was probably tired of hearing both our voices, so she broke in.

“He was only joking Janice.”

“No, he is f**cking unserious and I’m irritated. Go home, Ifeanyi.”

I had left the hospital for this rehearsal. I was ‘helping out’ (free-of-charge). I did not have to tolerate this.  Why some individuals think they need to be arrogant, ruthless b***hes to move ahead in the Fashion Industry is beyond me—playing Anna Wintour without any substantial portfolio. But it’s a small industry, still steadily growing and fortunately or unfortunately, we run into each other quite often.

For example, Janice is scheduled to interview for a stylist position at my office tomorrow and I’ll be doing the honours. Imagine the shock on her face when she realises that I will be deciding her fate. No don’t imagine it — lemme tell you: PRICELESS!